


Losing Hope

by Periazhad



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Crying, Enemy to Caretaker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jason Todd Returns Home, Non-Sexual Submission, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Not Okay, but light on the comfort just be warned, slightly more comfort in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29747379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: He needs a crisis, an urgent call to the Tower, someone, anyone, in distress.The lights go out.Well, Tim thought, snapping out his bo staff, I did want someone to be in distress. I suppose I am someone.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 93
Kudos: 541
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [envysparkler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/gifts).



> So...I would polish this more, but I’m too soft, and writing this made me extremely anxious, so here we are. Ise says it is good enough for me to post it; I don’t just need to throw it away forever.
> 
> a note just for Envy: I'm not turning into you! I'm not going to start posting all the time! I'm not cursed!
> 
> just..ignore the pattern unfolding.

Tim needs something to do. If he doesn’t have something to do, he’s going to start thinking.

Bruce and Dick are back in Gotham, furiously hunting for Jason, trying to bring him home. He disappeared after Bruce refused to kill the Joker, but not before he took off his helmet and showed off his bright green eyes.

_ Lazarus Pit _ .

Insanity, rage, violence.

Tim starts digging through a closet. If there are no crises, no people to save, maybe he can sweep the damn floor.

What do they even keep in this closet? Is that a shoe? Tim shoves it aside and keeps rummaging. Surely there’s a broom somewhere.

The Lazarus Pit can be managed, eventually. Ra’s is proof of this.

Tim finds a match for the shoe, and throws it with the other one. Who organizes these closets? For that matter, who cleans the Tower? Do they hire it out?

Jason isn’t managing the Pit rage. He’s furious, cutting a bloody swathe through Gotham. He wants vengeance, justice, satisfaction. He said that Bruce replaced him, and Tim felt the sting of that. The costume was never his, not really.

Tim finds a bucket. With a hole in it. He makes a mental note to gather the Titans and figure out housekeeping. Surely they don’t actually hire someone to clean; that’s a security risk. But someone’s been cleaning, and using a bucket with a hole; they can all do better.

It shouldn’t be this hard to find a damn broom! Tim slams the door, and kicks it for good measure, raking his hand through his hair.

He’s wearing the costume of a dead kid. He knew that, obviously, but having Jason come  _ back _ makes it seem unpalatable suddenly. Clearly, it’s unpalatable to Jason. 

Tim paces through the hallways, not sure what to do with himself.

Maybe he needs to give up Robin. No one has asked him; Bruce and Dick would never, and Jason’s probably not going to want it back, not with a body count that high. Not when he’s so angry at all of them. But for Tim’s own sake, maybe he needs to stop. It’s starting to feel like wearing a burial shroud.

He finds himself at the training room door. He opens it, and stands in the middle of the room. The thought of training, now, in this outfit, makes him feel sick.

Designing a new costume would keep his mind busy.

Jason’s certainly been busy. Bruce reached out to Talia after he saw Jason’s eyes, and got some thinly veiled, deeply unsettling hints about assassin “training” and “proving himself” and “finally worthy”. What did they  _ do _ to him? Not that Jason wants their pity.

He scrubs his hands over his face, feeling tired and helpless.

Jason was angry, before, but he was a sixteen year old boy. Of course he was going to be angry, at least some of the time. Add in street fighting, all of Gotham’s injustices, and Bruce’s lack of parenting skills, it’s no surprise Jason was angry. 

Alfred mentioned once that Dick and Bruce got to be explosive, too. Tim wondered, if he lived at the Manor, would he and Bruce be fighting now, too?

Should his costume have a cape? He needs to focus on anything else but Jason. He can’t do anything useful, shut away in the Tower like a damsel in distress. 

A costume isn’t going to distract him. He needs a crisis, an urgent call to the Tower, someone, anyone, in distress.

The lights go out.

Well, Tim thought, snapping out his bo staff, I did want  _ someone _ to be in distress. I suppose I am someone.

The backup generator doesn’t kick in, and the room is only lit up by faint emergency lighting. It casts long, weird shadows up on the walls, making everything familiar seem strange.

Does Jason feel that way? He should have been able to come home, slide into familiar waters, and instead here’s Tim. In his costume, in his place beside Bruce, being a younger brother to Dick. Does Jason even know Tim doesn’t live at the Manor? That he has his own parents, and Bruce didn’t adopt him?

Wow, even with an actual crisis he’s still thinking about Jason. Tim shakes himself, trying to focus. He needs to get to the command center. Maybe there’s just been a power failure, but once he’s in the command center he can figure it all out. Place a call for an assist, if needed, and use the cameras to figure out if he’s alone in the Tower or not.

Twirling his bo staff, to warm up muscles tight from worry, he turns to the door.

Someone is standing in front of it. Tim didn’t even hear the door open, and he  _ really _ needs to stop thinking about Jason or it’s going to get him killed. He’s got his own personal crisis to deal with right now; Jason can wait.

There’s a pause while he faces the figure, and then it steps forward, more of the faint lighting falling on it.

Speaking of Jason.

The helmet glints in the light, the white eyes faintly glowing, and Tim is transfixed. Jason takes a step forward, and then another, but Tim still can’t move, or think, staring at the helmet.

Jason’s boots are soundless on the faintly cushioned training floor, and his jacket whispers as he stalks forward.

Tim swallows, suddenly feeling like prey. It’s unlikely the Pit has worn off and Jason’s come to tell Tim the good news first, so they can go home and celebrate together. He chokes down an inappropriate giggle at the thought.

There’s really only one reason for Jason to be here, out of Gotham.

“Jason?” His voice is quieter than he’d like, a little uncertain by the end. He’d meant to call Jason by name, welcome him, but his uneasiness turned it into a question.

“So you know who I am. Good. That will make this easier.” The mechanized voice is more unsettling in person than he would have expected.

A pit is forming in Tim’s stomach, nerves and fear coming together in a hard lump. He’s seen footage of Hood fighting against Batman, and other criminals in Gotham.

Tim is good, proficient, skilled even. Bruce wouldn’t let him out, otherwise.

Jason, though. Jason is lethal grace, half a decade more of experience, and Tim has never caught even a flicker of hesitation in his movements. He doesn’t—Tim swallows again, fear sliding through his veins. The Red Hood doesn’t lose.

“Jason.” This time it’s not a question, but an acceptance.

Jason is just a couple steps away when he stops, and Tim almost flinches at the sudden lack of movement. His heart is beating rapidly, his mind quickly turning over all his options. He doesn’t have any.

The Red Hood doesn’t  _ lose _ .

Tim is going to lose. And with Jason’s fury, Tim is going to die.

He swallows again, his throat feeling vulnerable and fragile. He imagines Jason’s watching him closely, reveling in his nerves.

He can’t—he can’t fight Jason. He’s going to  _ lose. _ His only hope might be to try to talk Jason down, try to appeal to him. But Bruce—Bruce tried to talk Jason down, and it only ramped up Jason’s fury. 

Tim’s mouth is dry, his hands trembling minutely, as he watches Jason take off his helmet. And why wouldn’t he? Even without the protection from the helmet, even without his armor and guns, Tim wouldn’t have a chance.

Part of being a vigilante is knowing your skills and when to disengage, when to run. Sometimes, he knows, you sacrifice yourself for someone else. Bruce never told him that, would never tell a child in his care that sometimes your life is less important than someone else’s, but Tim knows it. It’s why he’s Robin in the first place; giving up who he is so someone else can benefit.

This death, though. It’s going to be meaningless.

A flicker of rage, of despair, flares up in him and then dies. There’s no point.

“Jason,” he whispers, caught by those vivid eyes, pinned in place.

Jason glides forward, and Tim should take a step back, create room to use his staff, try to get around Jason and get to the command center but he just...doesn’t.

Stopping right in front of him, Jason reaches up and lays a hand on his cheek.

Tim’s eyes shutter closed at the contact, and he tries not to cry.

“You know I’m here to kill you, Replacement.” His voice is warm.

The warmth, and the gentle hand on his face, would be comforting in different circumstances.

“Yes,” Tim whispers, because he already knew. This is just confirmation.

“You going to make me work for it?”

The voice is so gentle, so at odds with the words, and Tim shudders. His staff slips through nerveless fingers to land heavily on the floor. 

Jason laughs, softly, delighted.

“Well, aren’t you just well-behaved for me.” 

Jason takes a step back, and Tim feels sick because he  _ misses _ the warmth on his face, the warmth of someone standing so intimately close. He leaves his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see Jason’s face, see the delight so evident in his voice. Delight at Tim’s imminent death.

“Should I make it quick, Replacement?” 

Jason keeps calling him that, but he’s never been a replacement. He’s not Bruce’s son; he’s a pale imitation of the former Robin, and he’s never been enough.

Tim nods, and then says, “Please.” His voice cracks, and he should probably feel mortified, but he’s about to die. He doesn’t care. He resolutely refuses to cry.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, then?” Jason’s smooth, warm voice wraps around him like a caress, and Tim shudders again.

He gracefully goes to his knees, still keeping his eyes closed. He tries not to listen as Jason circles around him.

Maybe this will be what Jason needs. Maybe it will sate the Pit rage, and Jason will go home. Maybe—he swallows. Maybe it doesn’t have to be meaningless.

No one is really going to miss him; Bruce and Dick will have Jason. Tim forced his way into their world, and his value to them was only in dulling the edges of their grief, distracting them. With Jason returned to them, Tim can fade away.

Maybe it’s a worthy sacrifice to make.

He takes a deep breath, and tries to still the trembling that’s spread through his whole body. His hands are in fists, hanging at his side, and he deliberately relaxes them. This is just another part of being a vigilante. It will be the last part, but he signed up for all of it, and this is probably the easiest way out.

“Any last words?” Jason’s voice comes from behind him. Tim doesn’t let his brain think about where Jason is, which way he’d roll if he was going to try to avoid— 

Last words. A message for his parents, or Bruce and Dick?

Tim shakes his head, not trusting his voice. No one needs a message from him.

Jason lets a hand fall onto Tim’s head, gentle like everything else. Tim still flinches, and he hears the smile in Jason’s voice.

“Are you sure?” Jason’s hand tangles in Tim’s head, and carefully tips it back. 

Tim can feel the warmth of Jason’s body behind him, brushing up against his head. A knife rests on his throat, and he carefully doesn’t swallow; Jason knows he can’t answer like this. He’s not going to wait for an answer.

The moment stretches, and a tear slips down his face. He can’t move, can’t breathe, his entire being focused on the chill of the knife, the warmth of Jason, the tear sliding down his cheek.

Then, Jason shoves him roughly. Tim sprawls on the ground, blinking up at him in shock. Jason’s twirling the knife, a sharp smile on his face, pacing around him.

“Did you really think you’d get off that easily?” Jason’s voice is rough, for the first time.

_ Yes _ , Tim thinks.  _ Please _ , he doesn’t say, because there’s something about Jason that’s making him go cold. 

Dying, he could manage. He was prepared, he was ready, it was going to  _ mean  _ something.

Now, he looks with horror at the knife flipping around and around, the blade almost flickering in the dim lighting. Jason isn’t going to spare him, isn’t having second thoughts.

Jason is—he swallows, licks his suddenly dry lips. Jason is going to  _ torture _ him.

His eyes flicker to his bo staff, because torture— 

“Do you really want to make it worse for yourself?” Jason’s voice is back to velvet smoothness, and Tim’s hands flex unconsciously on the floor.

No, he doesn’t want to make it worse for himself. That’s why he surrendered, so it would be easy for both of them. But Jason doesn’t  _ want  _ it to be easy; Tim can read it in his eyes.

Jason wants Tim to pick up the staff; he’d probably stand back and let Tim grab it. He wants an excuse to beat Tim bloody, to destroy him before he finishes him off.

Looking up into Jason’s eyes, Tim knows Jason doesn’t need an excuse. Jason will do whatever he wants, with or without Tim’s cooperation. Tim’s not getting out of this without pain.

He wants to beg with Jason, plead for mercy. He wants to know why Jason wants to hurt him so badly, why he won’t just  _ finish _ it.

Only he already knows the answer. The Pit is flowing through Jason’s veins, singing in his mind, fueling his anger. He’s angry, because the Joker is alive. He’s angry, because Tim is wearing his outfit, taking his place.

And yet. Tim’s eyes flicker between the staff and knife for a moment, and then he looks up at Jason’s face.

There’s not a chance of winning if he doesn’t try, right?

But Tim can read his death in Jason’s eyes, one way or the other. He’s suddenly so tired. Tired of holding Bruce up, pretending to be a brother to Dick so Dick can feel like he’s got another chance, tired of going out into a city that never gets any better.

“No.” Tim’s voice is so rough with unshed tears, unspoken words, it almost surprises him. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

What else is there to say? He already surrendered, went to his knees, and now he’s on his back. Jason can do whatever he wants, and Tim will try to not fight back. His story is already finished; this is just the unpleasant bit before the end. Maybe this extra pain is what Jason needs to purge the Pit rage. Maybe simply dying isn’t enough.

He needs to find some meaning, in the pain to come.

Jason kicks him, suddenly, in the side. Tim can feel a rib crack; steel-toed boots are no joke. He gasps, curling in on himself. When the pain lessens, he looks back up at Jason.

Jason’s eyes are almost glowing now, impossibly vivid in the dimly lit training room.

“It’s not going to be easy either way.” 

\---

Jason watches the blood drip off his knife, onto the floor. He imagines he can hear it as it lands, satisfaction running through his veins.

The Pit is quieter than it’s ever been, and Jason should have done this a long time ago.

Replacement didn’t even put up a fight; Jason’s doing Bruce a fucking _favor._ No one this weak should be out on the streets, calling themselves a hero.

Tim begged, eventually, for Jason just to kill him. Jason could tell he didn’t mean to beg, but enough pain and anyone gets desperate. The kid is quiet now, though, except for hitching breaths. He tried so desperately not to sob, to stoically take what was given to him, that the green rushed with elation every time he broke.

Jason would stop, talk him down, stroke his face gently. The kid tried to hide it, but he’s clearly touch starved, craving the unwanted comfort. Jason would give it to him, soothing him back into resigned acceptance. And once Tim regained control, stopped begging, slowed his breathing, Jason would start again.

Jason wonders if he should leave him like this, for someone to find. He was careful; Replacement isn’t going to bleed out any time soon. 

Then he could come back to visit, again and again. See how many times it takes before that sweet submission turns desperate, frantic, and he finally fights back. 

Jason would still win.

He  _ likes _ that idea.

“Well, Replacement, this has been fun.” 

He keeps his voice gentle, crouching down next to the kid. Tim is leaning up against a wall, hand clamped over the deepest knife wound, eyes closed.

The green stirs, but quiets immediately. It’s finally had  _ enough. _ Jason can’t give up something that makes the green settle so nicely.

“I think we can leave this here; pick it up again another time.”

Tim’s eyes snap open, wide with shock. 

“J—Jason, wait.” His voice is hoarse, his breathing uneven. “You’re leaving?”

“Sure am, Replacement.” He smiles at the kid. “This has been fun, and I think we’ll do it another time.”

“B—but…” The kid trails off, a flicker of understanding blooming, fear growing in his eyes. “You’re—you’re going to come  _ back?” _

Jason hasn’t seen him this afraid, not once. Leaving him here is definitely the right call.

He stands up and says, “Yep.”

He watches as Tim tries to get up, but it’s hard to do with a broken leg and dislocated shoulder. The broken ribs, bruising, and burns won’t help, either.

Jason walks off toward the door. “I’ll turn the alarms on when I leave, ok? Someone will be along soon.” He keeps his voice soothing, like he’s a friend helping the kid out.

“Jason, wait!”

Jason turns at the door to look at him. 

“Please, Jason, finish this. Please, just—” He breaks off to gasp with pain.

For once, the kid is moving of his own volition. He’s coming after Jason, crawling on the floor. It’s hard to crawl with a broken leg, and fucked up arms, and that much pain. Jason knows that.

Jason  _ knows _ that.

_ The floor doesn’t feel cold anymore, which he knows is a bad sign. Blood loss. He needs to get to the door. Pick the lock, get out, get away from the bomb. But no matter how carefully he moves, it hurts. And he doesn’t have the time to be careful. _

Tim is pulling himself painfully along, eyes fixed desperately on Jason, a trail of blood behind him.

He’s even in his Robin costume, like Jason was.

A tremor runs through Jason, and he shakes it off.

It’s not the same. Help is coming. Shit,  _ Jason  _ is going to be the one to set off the alarm and summon help.

_ It’s not the same _ .

Without the Pit, he can hear his mind more clearly. It’s not the same, because the Joker isn’t here. It’s not the same, because no villain is here, gloating.

Except.

_ Except you _ .

Jason flinches.

Tim’s voice filters in, as if from a long away.

“Just shoot me, Jason. We both know you want it. Just shoot me, please, and you’ll feel better.”

With fresh eyes, he looks at Tim. Horror sinks into him and he’s breathless.

A bloodied and broken  _ kid, _ painfully crawling across the floor, desperate to die.

Jason had been desperate to live, but he’d had hope. This kid has none.

He moves numbly towards Tim. The kid stops moving, relief washing over him, falling silent.

As if in a dream, Jason goes past him and grabs the bo staff. Tim makes an aborted noise, but Jason kneels next to him and carefully splints his leg.

“J—Jason, what—” Tim falls silent at whatever he sees in Jason’s face.

Jason has no words.

He gathers Tim carefully in his arms, and goes to the nearest zeta tube. Tim is, as always, unresisting. Jason feels sick, distantly. Everything feels distant. Looking down at Tim, he sees the faint red line on his throat. He doesn’t think Tim knows how close Jason came in that first moment to just finishing it.

Holding Tim carefully, Jason puts in the override code on the tube. He’d left it open, because heroes can be unpredictable, and he had wanted an escape. When it lights up, he puts in his personal code.

He still can’t believe, even knowing he’s alive, no one wiped him from the system. 

Only Robins can go to the Cave.

\---

There’s a chime in the cave, before the zeta tube opens. It’s enough time to prepare; Bruce designed it that way on purpose.

Jason steps out into the Cave, and Bruce is waiting. 

“Tim needs medical attention.” His voice is hoarse, nothing like the smooth voice he’d used to torment Tim.

He moves mechanically toward the medbay, and Bruce steps wordlessly aside. 

Dick comes sprinting down the stairs, vaulting down halfway, but doesn’t say a word at the scene. 

Everyone is silent as Jason sets Tim down gently.

“I—” he cuts off. What can he say? He takes a step back, and then another, and Bruce and Dick are rushing into the gap. He should leave, he should go, but he doesn’t know where to go. There’s so much blood on his hands.

\---

Tim refuses sedation. He refuses to let them do anything that couldn’t be done while he was awake. He needs to watch Jason.

Bruce smooths Tim’s hair and says, “Let us put you under,  _ please _ , Tim.”

“Bruce,” Tim whispers. “He’s _ still here.” _

And Bruce had known, but he hadn’t cared. Tim needs his attention, and Jason doesn't seem to be a threat. But if Tim won’t settle until Jason is dealt with, Bruce will do what he’s yearned to do since his middle child returned to the Cave.

Neither of them had said how Tim had gotten hurt, but it was obvious. Why Jason brought him to the Cave for medical attention was less obvious.

Bruce turns, and Jason is standing unnaturally still to the side of the computer. Leaving Dick to sit with Tim, Bruce approaches his missing son.

“Jason,” he starts, planning to try to say  _ I love you, I’ve missed you. _ All the things he should have said, back at the warehouse with Joker.

The words die in his mouth when Jason drops to his knees and bows his head.

Tim makes a tiny noise, but Bruce can’t look away.

Jason, still in most of his Red Hood gear, is  _ kneeling _ to him.

Bruce is frozen.

“Bruce.” Jason’s voice is older than the voice he remembers, richer, but hoarse. “I—I’m sorry.”

_ For what _ , Bruce wants to ask. For not coming home? For expecting Bruce to kill for him? For torturing Tim? It wasn’t a fight; Tim had clearly been deliberately tortured.

He glances back at Tim; Dick is easily holding Tim back on the bed, keeping him from trying to get up on his broken leg.

\---

Jason knows Tim didn’t feel this on his knees, the sickening uncertainty. Tim knew he was going to die, and he thought it was going to be quick. Jason doesn’t know what’s going to happen, and he doesn’t care. The numbness wore off with every pained gasp Tim gave in medbay, but he still can’t care about what will happen.

Tim won’t let himself be treated while Jason is free. It makes sense. The kid is terrified of him. It’s what he  _ wanted.  _ It’s his dream come true. 

He feels nauseous.

If only he’d be so lucky that Bruce would be angry enough to break his golden rule for him.

“Bruce. I—I’m sorry.”

And he really is, that’s the kicker. Tim’s fear and pain sated the Pit, it sank down, and now he’d give anything to undo the last year. 

There are no words to make up for what he’s done, nothing he can say that would convince Bruce he meant it.

He can only submit and take whatever punishment Bruce thinks he deserves. 

He tenses when Bruce steps closer, and then forces himself to relax. The silence stretches and something snaps inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice shaking, tremors growing inside him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

Only he  _ did  _ mean it, he just regrets it.

“The—the Pit.” Jason takes a stuttering breath. “I couldn’t fight it but now—I’m sorry,  _ please _ , Dad,  _ please.”  _

His frame racked by shaking, trying not to sob, he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for.

Bruce knows. He kneels, and Jason tries to pull away, but Bruce catches him in a hug.

The warmth and safety of those strong arms, those arms he died waiting for, break the last of his resolve.

He buries his face in his dad’s shoulder, sobbing. 

\---

Dick and Tim are watching silently, wide eyed. Tim stopped fighting when Bruce went to his knees, and now he has a tight grip on Dick, to keep Dick with him.

Bruce and Jason need this moment. Jason needs this.

A frisson of satisfaction runs through Tim.

_ He did it _ . He didn’t provoke Jason, he didn’t fight, he didn’t argue, he just endured. 

Even when he thought Jason was going to beat him to death with his own staff, he was not going to object.

And now Jason is home, in the arms of Bruce, where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a point, early on, where I just wanted Jason to actually kill Tim. To end the story there. Jason never shoves Tim, he just slits his throat and Tim can finally rest.
> 
> Ise and Envy had...objections. Envy threatened revenge, which was absolutely terrifying, I literally flinched, and Ise guilted me with memories of her dead sister. So, you can thank them that Jason didn’t actually kill Tim. Because he absolutely would have without them, and there’s a vivid version in my mind where he does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's home, but his control of the Pit isn't as good as Tim would like.
> 
> I swear, I'm not going to keep posting every day. I have the Cass and Steph shifter story to work on (finally got the idea), and it will Take Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy put this idea in my head, and it wouldn't go away. It's her fault.

Tim’s alone in the Cave, running through a strengthening routine for his leg, when a roar announces Jason’s motorcycle. Jason’s starting coming and going a lot from the Cave in the last two months; it’s not an unfamiliar sound.

As always, he feels a spike of unease at being alone with him, and tamps it down. Jason’s back with his family, and the Pit isn’t riding him. Tim  _ succeeded, _ and the uneasiness is just an unfortunate side effect. He isn’t going to let it taint Jason’s return with his family.

So, when Jason parks his motorcycle, Tim carefully doesn’t look at him to track his movements. He focuses on his strengthening routine, deliberately not listening to Jason. Tim is fine, Jason is fine, and everything is going to be  _ fine. _

Jason has avoided Tim, since the Tower. Tim understands that. Bruce hasn’t asked Tim to go, hasn’t told Tim he can’t be Robin again. He knows it’s coming, though, now that he’s healed, and of course Jason would feel awkward around him. Tim doesn’t really belong here.

He’s so carefully focusing on his workout that he doesn’t notice that Jason isn’t heading for the showers, or up into the Manor.

“Replacement.” 

Tim flinches at the cold tone. Maybe Jason is going to kick Tim out himself, and not wait for Bruce. That’s more than fine; Tim has had his stuff packed for the last week or so, waiting.

He turns to Jason, and takes an involuntary step backwards. Jason’s eyes are...glowing. Tim hasn’t seen them glow since the Tower. His heart rate picks up, and something unpleasant swirls in his stomach. He takes another step backwards, and another, before he makes himself stop.   
  


“Jason?” He tries to sound calm, casual. Glowing eyes are just part of the Pit, right? Jason can’t control them; there’s no need to be alarmed. Tim probably hasn’t seen them because he hasn’t seen a lot of Jason.

Jason stalks towards him, full of menace. He’s dressed as Hood, sans helmet, and fully armed. Tim stops breathing.

“Jason?” His voice is higher, shakier, and he hates himself for showing his fear.

Jason smiles, but the cruel twist of his lips makes Tim shudder. He’s been here before, and he thought—thought they got through this, and Jason was—was better, and the Pit settled. He’s gotten control of the Pit, right?

“J—Jason? It’s me, Tim. We—we’re in the Cave. Everything is fine.”

Everything is  _ not _ fine. Tim is trembling, his stomach is tight, and tears are pricking at his eyes.

“D—did you want to use the workout space? I can go.” 

_ I can go away and never come back. _

Jason knows another way to make Tim never come back, never take his place again, and Tim feels sick at the thought.

Jason’s getting closer and closer to Tim, and Tim knows he should run, should head for the stairs, should try to reach a comm and raise Bruce or Dick or anyone. He needs to do  _ something. _

But, just like in the Tower, he can see how it will end before it even starts 

There’s no  _ point  _ to resisting. Jason is going to get what he wants, no matter what Tim does. Tim doesn’t even have a weapon this time. He stands before Jason, trembling in sweat pants and a t-shirt, terrified Jason won’t make it quick this time.

“Jason,  _ please,” _ he says, unsure what he’s even begging for.

Jason reaches out a hand and cups his cheek, and Tim lets his eyes shutter closed.

“Are you going to be good for me, again?”

A tear slides down Tim’s cheek, and he can’t make himself answer. His silence is answer enough. 

Jason strokes his fingers along Tim’s cheek as he pulls his hand away.

“Kneel for me.” 

Tim takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to beg, trying to not to sob. Just—just do what Jason wants, and maybe he really will make it quick. He falls to his knees, ignoring the twinge his still-healing leg gives. It doesn’t matter; nothing is going to matter soon.

If he doesn’t open his eyes, he can pretend he’s somewhere else. Somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere that’s never existed for him.

“Oh, baby bird,” Jason says, and Tim shudders again.

That’s—that’s Dick’s name for him. It sounds wrong, in Jason’s rich, warm voice, while Tim is waiting to die.

“You know this is better for everyone, right?”

Tim does know. It’ll be easier for his parents when he’s gone. Bruce won’t have to awkwardly explain he can’t be Robin, Dick won’t have to force himself to keep pretending Tim is his brother. Maybe the Pit will fully leave Jason, when Tim dies. And Tim can finally rest. 

Jason’s behind him, now, sliding his hand into Tim’s hair, tipping his head up and back.

“You think I should make it quick, this time?”

There’s no way for Jason to miss Tim’s flinch, and he laughs. 

“You remember last time, don’t you? We had a lot of fun, you and I. I did tell you I’d come back.”

The knife is resting gently on Tim’s throat, a promise Tim wants Jason to make good. He wonders what Jason would do if Tim shoved himself forward. Could he move fast enough to cut his own throat, to spare himself the torture that’s undoubtably coming?

When Jason steps back, Tim feels exposed. He carefully doesn’t brace, expecting a shove or kick, preparing to just accept it and not fight back.

Nothing.

He can’t even hear Jason moving.

Breathing deeply, he tries to remain calm. Jason—Jason likes to draw it out. This is just building anticipation. Tim can take it, he can withstand  _ nothing happening. _

He draws in one shaky breath, and then another. On the third, he breaks.

“Jason,  _ please,” _ he pleads. “Just make it quick. Don’t—please don’t hurt me. I’m not fighting you, I—I’m doing what you want.”

His breath hitches.

He remembers what it was like, trying to remain still while Jason carved into his body, the agonizing pain mixed with Jason’s glee. But he’s more terrified of the cruelty veiled as kindness.

Tim has tried to forget Jason holding him, wiping away his tears. He was so gentle, until Tim got his tears under control, could stop begging, and could make himself submit again. Tim is terrified of breaking under that kindness. No one had ever held him while he cried, tried to soothe him, been there for him. He knew it was a lie, he’s not an  _ idiot, _ but it felt—it had felt so good.

He sobs, “Jason,  _ please, _ just—”

There’s nothing he can say, and nothing he can do. He can’t fight; he can’t win. Jason’s going to do what he wants, and what he wants is to  _ hurt _ Tim, make him bleed, and break, again and again. 

Tim wavers, on his knees, his leg reminding him it’s not healed, it’s weak, it  _ hurts. _ He’s not sure he can stay up much longer.

\---

The green rushes away as quickly as it came, leaving horror in its wake.

Tim is crying, wavering on his knees, head still tipped back even though Jason has let go.

Jason thought—well, he hadn’t thought about Tim much, because he felt too guilty. But he thought someone was helping the kid out, figuring out why he just  _ gave up, _ and—

Jason’s knife drops from nerveless fingers, slicing into the training mat.

He should—he needs to get away from the kid, lock himself up so no one gets hurt. But as he takes a step back, Tim slumps to the side, not even catching himself. Jason stares as Tim sobs, still begging.

“J-Jason, I’m sorry,” he hiccups. “I couldn’t—my leg—I’m sorry,  _ please, _ don’t make it—please, just kill me.”

Without conscious thought, Jason’s kneeling beside Tim, wrapping him up in his arms. Tim is so touch-starved, and why hadn’t Jason  _ remembered _ that, because clearly Dick and Bruce don’t  _ know, _ so no one’s looking out for Tim. 

“Shhh, Tim, I’m sorry, shhh. It’s going to be okay.” Every word feels like a lie.

Tim shudders in his arms. “J—Jason, don’t. Don’t pretend to—Just—please stop, please kill me. I can’t— _ please.” _

“I’m not going to kill you, baby bird.” He’s trying to sound soothing, and realizes too late how it sounds.

Tim stiffens, but doesn’t try to get away. “No, no, Jason,  _ please.  _ You have to—you can’t—please don’t keep hurting me, I can’t—I’m  _ trying _ to do what you want, I am, but—”

The kid is shaking apart in his arms, clinging to him while wanting to be anywhere else but here. Jason gently shifts him, until Tim is curled up in his lap. He’s so small, compared to Jason. So fragile, in or out of his costume. 

Tim turns his face into Jason’s chest, sobbing. Jason runs his fingers through Tim’s hair, rubbing his back with the other hand.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to kill you. The Pit’s gone, okay? It’s gone, and it’s going to be okay.” Jason’s not sure if Tim can even hear him. Or if he’d believe him.

His stomach twists with guilt, holding a sobbing, broken child. A child he broke, a child that may have been already broken. Jason stands, cradling Tim in his arms. He needs to get Tim somewhere comfortable, somewhere safe.

Tim’s sobs are lessening, but his body remains limp and hopeless. Jason carries him up the stairs, into the Manor, heading for Tim’s room.

The room is...lifeless. Is Tim living out of a suitcase? There’s hardly anything to separate this room from a guest bedroom. Jason knew the kid had parents, vaguely, but he hadn’t thought about what it  _ meant. _

Glancing down at Tim, now just shivering silently in his arms, Jason heads for his own room. Tim needs warmth, and safely, not that sad excuse for a bedroom. Jason’s room is messy, covered with dirty clothes, books carefully stacked along walls. Bruce had told him to come home, so...he did. Had no one told Tim that this could be his home?

He tries to put the kid on the bed, but Tim won’t let go of him. Jason curls himself around Tim, running his hands through Tim’s hair. Slowly, soothing, gently.

“Shhh, Tim. It’s okay. The Pit is gone. It’s alright, it’s going to be okay, no one is going to hurt you.” Tremors wrack Tim’s body, and he doesn’t respond.

\---

Slowly, warmth penetrates Tim’s fog. Someone is running their hand through his hair, and he needs it to never stop. Quiet voices filter in.

“No, we never got the feed from the Tower. You cut the power, remember?”

“Dick, he just—”

The hand running through his hair stutters.

“Did you see the Cave feed?” 

“We can pull it up now.”

There’s silence, and then Jason says, “He didn’t  _ fight, _ Bruce. He just gave up. And he  _ let _ me—”

The hand stops for a moment, and Tim makes a displeased sound.

“Tim? Tim, honey, can you open your eyes?”

That’s Dick. Tim keeps his eyes closed.

“Tim, open your eyes for us?”

Bruce. His deep voice is soothing, but Tim isn’t ready yet.

“Tim?” That’s Jason’s voice. “Will you—will you please open your eyes? I—we want to know you’re okay?”

Tim opens his eyes.

Dick is curled up on one side, Jason on the other other, and Bruce is sitting in a chair. They’re in—they’re in  _ Jason’s _ room? Jason is looking right at him.

“Baby bird, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t even mad at you, the Pit—” He cuts himself off, and pulls back. Tim immediately misses the hand, the warmth, the closeness.

“It’s fine, Jason. You didn’t hurt me; the Pit isn’t your fault. It’s fine.” 

Dick presses closer, and starts stroking Tim’s hair. It’s not as good as Jason, but Tim sinks into the reassurance all the same.

“Tim, honey, why didn’t you fight back? Or try to call one of us?” Dick is concerned, but gentle.

Tim knows he needs to deflect, to explain, to lie, but he’s so  _ tired _ , and warm, and the hand running through his hair is soothing.

“Jason was going to win,” he says in a tiny voice. “There wasn’t—wasn’t any point.”

“Next time,” that’s Bruce’ voice. “Next time you think, or even _know,_ you’re going to lose, you buy time. You buy time, Tim, for us to _rescue_ _you._ That’s the point.”

Tim hadn’t even thought of that. He just knew Jason was going to win and—and no one would care, so no one was coming.

Without meaning to, he says, “But Jason needed it. He needed to—to hurt me.” He can’t say kill, not with Bruce and Dick looking so concerned, not with Jason making a low, wounded sound on his other side. 

“Jason, it’s  _ fine. _ You needed—needed to satisfy the Pit.” Tim carefully doesn’t remember the specifics. “And it worked. You got what you—needed, at the Tower. And then you came  _ home. _ The most important thing, right?”

Tim looks to Bruce and Dick for confirmation. “That’s what you wanted, right? For Jason to come home, and then…” he trails off. “Then I can go back home, because you don’t need me anymore.” 

Jason rolls over and knocks Dick’s hand out of Tim’s hair. Before Tim can object, Jason is stroking Tim. Warmth presses against his side, and it’s suddenly a struggle to stay awake.

“Did you tell him that, Bruce? Did you honestly tell him you were going to kick him out if I came home?” 

Bruce holds up his hands. “ _ No, _ Jason.”

“Tim, why would you think that?” That’s Dick, peering down at him in concern.

Tim yawns, cocooned in warmth and safety. He’s confused that  _ they’re _ confused, confused about why Jason’s angry, and he’s so tired. He thought he was going to die, going to be tortured, and now he has to talk? He wants to  _ sleep. _

“It’s obvious,” he says sleepily. “Jason’s your son, and brother. You’re family. I’m just—” he yawns. “I’m just the kid next door. My own parents don’t even want me, and I was useful, but now—” he yawns, again. “Now, Jason’s home. You don’t need me anymore.”

He can’t stay awake. Jason is right there, soothing him, and Jason’s the only one who’s ever held him while he cried. The circumstances were less than ideal, Tim knows, but some part of his brain thinks of Jason as  _ safety. _

Jason will be there, if Tim needs him. It’s a lie, but it’s a pretty one, and Tim clings to it. He can deal with reality when he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all my comments, but I don't think I can respond them all! Know I adored your comment, even if it is cruelly ignored.


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